


When the Bat is Away

by literati42



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, mentions of Bruce Wayne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: When Batman and Alfred are out of town, the Robins–past and present–are left to care for Gotham. All of this would work out fine if Tim was not hiding something…





	When the Bat is Away

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my tumblr, literati42, as a prompt request from tumblr user fandom-princess-of-awesomeness: “Tim ends up getting sick while Bruce and Alfred are away and Dick, Jason, and Damian take care of him.”

            Tim wiped sweat off his brow with one hand, holding on to one of Gotham’s many gargoyles with the other. It was a cool night according to the weather he checked earlier as part of his pre-mission recon. Tim was never one to leave any loose ends and not factoring in weather into plans was simply amateur hour. Weather could be your greatest foe or your best ally, depending on how well you accounted for it. He explained this to his siblings several dozen times, but of course, that just led to Jason calling him a nerd and Damian going on about how a true warrior is master of the elements rather than a slave to them. Tim rolled his eyes at the memory and took a breath, wiping his forehead again. It was supposed to be cold, and genuinely each breeze seemed to go right through him, regardless of the Red Robin uniform. So why was he sweating? He cursed himself for losing focus, shifting his grip and glancing out to watch for his siblings. He leaned a hand on the net where one of the Riddler’s henchmen hung below the gargoyle Tim was currently perched on. His name was Eric, Tim knew this not just because of his detective abilities. He knew this man’s name because it was time number 7 he caught him during a heist. Eric had worked for every big wig baddie in the city, with the exception of Joker because, and Tim remembered the quote exactly, _“that fool is crazy.”_

            “You’re not looking so good,” said Eric, frowning through his green costume. “Maybe you should let me go and get some rest. You have a bit of a sheen.” The sad thing, Tim noted, was the man sounded genuinely concerned. “And those bags under your eyes are getting worse.” Tim did not hide his eye roll.

            “You can’t see the bags under my eyes,” he replied.

            “True, but I know they are there,” Eric replied, “I hear it in your voice.” Tim grunted. “Seriously, you’re not even being a smartass. That’s not a good sign from you, I mean it.” Tim grumbled, turning away. It was bad enough to get the overbearing parental treatment at home, but now the actual criminals were joining in? He straightened up to try and work a kink out of his muscles and felt a sharp pang in his side. He hissed and pressed his hand against it. “Kid?” Eric said. Tim waved him off.

            “Hey Babybird,” the signal picked up in his communicator, transmitting the familiar voice of Dick Grayson, resident first Robin and current Nightwing. “We have a situation. You got the Riddler problem handled?”

            “Yeah, it was just Eric again, the big guy himself didn’t make an appearance.”

            “Is that Nightwing?” asked the thug, shifting in the net, “Say hi for me.” Tim glared down at him, but could not respond before Nightwing chirped over the comm.

“Oh hey Eric, didn’t we just lock you up?”

“Didn’t take, what are you going to do? That’s the broken system for ya,” Eric replied.

“If you two are finished playing catch-up, there was a situation?” Tim pressed, massaging his temple. His skin felt clammy. He pulled his hand back and saw it was shaking, just slightly. He needed more coffee.

“Yeah, something going on at the docks. Head down here as soon as you can.” Dick sighed, actually sighed over the comm.“ Something is always going on at the docks, and it’s never anything pleasant.”

“We’ll all go take a picnic down by the polluted Gotham water next time we’re free then,” broke in the voice of Tim’s other older brother, Jason Todd.

“The communicators are for mission relevant conversation,” Damian’s young voice came in now as a low growl, “I expect professionalism from the three of you. Just because father is away doesn’t mean we can slack on discipline.”

The bickering became a steady flow and Tim could not stay focused on the meaning of the words. The pain in his side was magnifying now.

“Hey, Red Robin, maybe it’s not the best idea to be swinging around in your condition,” Eric commented quietly, as Tim shot his grappling hook. He did not respond, just shut off the comm, his head immediately filling with silence in the absence of familial bickering. He closed his eyes for a split second, forced them open, and swung.

_-_-_

            Less than 10 minutes later, Tim was neck deep in thugs. He swung his bow staff, connecting sharply with one’s temple and then spun around to take another out at the knees. Dick was to his right, Jason to his left, and behind him, he could hear Damian. Tim remembered that morning when Dick joked about being bored while Alfred and Bruce were overseas. Of course, Dick had only said that to whine about the fact that the older generations were not sharing the information about where they were going or why. They merely stated that they would be gone and out of communication, and could the four boys please try to work together and keep Gotham in one piece. After having to break up another squabble between Damian and Tim, Bruce had commented that maybe he should call Superman to swing by for a few days. That had Dick straightening up quickly to assure their father they would be okay and would even play nice. After all, what was the worst thing that could happen in a few days?

            Tim rolled his eyes as he ducked to avoid getting shot in the head by a gun that was definitely not street legal. Yes, Dick, what _was_ the worst that could happen? He thought. He saw one of the higher up henchmen ducking out a window. Tim narrowed his eyes and broke free of the fight, jumping onto a surprised thug’s shoulders and them as a springboard to throw himself out the window. He landed on the other side. It should have been a clean jump, but for some reason, it vibrated through his bones. He cringed and then his hand went back to his side. The pain was sharp. He lifted his glove, but no blood. He concluded he was not shot. Anything else he could worry about later. He took off after the man. The chase took them down a pier toward a boat. This man was clearly a general among the Penguin’s thugs, heading back to the casino to report on the current Robin activity. Tim could not let him get away.

            Red Robin heard the fight behind him spilling out of the warehouse onto the street. His brothers were outside now but too occupied to track him. He heard other thugs running their direction, heading for the boat, but he focused ahead. He launched himself off the pier just as the boat started out, rolling as he landed on the deck. He was up at once, fists up. The world swayed as if from waves, but the water was clear. The thug turned around, his expression going first to fear and then to confusion. Then a look of confidence took over the thugs face. Tim had exactly two seconds to try and untangle that expression before pain rocketed through him from his side. He collapsed to his knees. Suddenly, Tim was hurling onto the deck. The pain in his side was ratcheting up. He felt impossibly hot and terribly cold. He saw the thugs boots in his vision and then hurled directly on them.

            He could just make out the sounds coming over his comm. “Status report,” Dick’s voice commanded.

            “I have West exit covered,” Damian pipped in.

            “Have a pile of them at the East exit,” Jason added.

            “That better be a living pile,” Dick said.

            “Where’s the fun in that?”

            “If father was here…”

            “Red Robin, report,” Dick cut off their younger brother. “Red Robin…report.”

            Tim heard all of this. The familiar sounds of his siblings squabbling, just as a hand roughly hauled him off the deck. He was suddenly face to face with the Penguin’s enforcer. The wicked smile would have been sickening if Tim had not already felt so ill. He leaned in, his voice registering on the comm. He knew. He knew they could hear him. “Sorry, birds, Red Robin is out of commission.” Tim tried to make his body work, but the pain was so intense he was unable even to keep his eyes open. Then he was in the air, thrown like garbage. The waves hit him with their ice, and he gasped. Water filled his lungs. The pain, the growing fever, the water. It all mixed together into a swirl of pain and panic.

_-_-_

            “Sorry, birds, Red Robin is out of commission,” the words hit Red Hood like a punch to the gut. He shot his current opponent, not even checking to see if the wound was fatal and took off back toward the others. The splash registered on the comms, so Tim was near the water. Jason holstered his weapons and dove off the dock into the water; one thought bouncing against his skull like a pool ball. No Robin was going to die here tonight. Not again. He saw the wake of the boat heading off and swam toward it, diving down the moment he reached the place the boat had been tied up. The waves broke the light of the full moon above into fingers reaching into the murky depths. One finger caught on red. Red chest plate, red metallic wings. Jason did not think, merely grabbed and began kicking back to the surface. His little brother’s body was completely still against him. He surfaced, and suddenly there were hands trying to rip Tim from him. He snarled and tried to kick away.

            “Hood, stop,” Dick’s voice snapped. He grabbed Tim and this time Jason let go, letting their older brother draw the kid up onto the dock. Dick laid Tim out and began compressions. Jason pulled himself up, watching. Tim was not respond. At all.

            “You’re doing it wrong,” Damian said, pushing Dick away and taking over. His furious little fists pounding Tim’s sternum. Jason looked up, alert to the danger, but all the henchmen had scattered, using this opportunity to avoid capture. Not a lowlife in Gotham wanted to be around if one of the Bat’s birds died. Jason growled. He would not let himself think that.

            Damian’s fist made a wet thwack, and suddenly Tim was sputtering. He threw up water. Then vomited again. Jason leaned forward, watching the kid’s face, but those familiar eyes remained shut. He hurled one final time and then curled up in a ball. He was shivering, his face contorting in pain. Tim, the tireless. Tim the never-saw-never. Tim the boy who would claim he was fine even if have his limbs were laying in a pile of the floor. Jason’s little brother Tim, whimpered in pain. Jason felt sick.

            Then he felt furious.

            “What did they do to you?” he growled. He saw the hand Tim had pressed against his side and began trying to pry it loose. He needed to see the damage. He managed to move Tim’s hand, but there was no visible wound. The kid’s hand though. Tim was burning up.

            “We need to get him back to the cave,” Dick said, his voice sharp, masking the worry with control. Jason grunted in response, dragging the kid up into his arms. He felt Damian fall into step behind him, saw Dick going first. Jason felt Tim trying to curl up again in his arms.

            Someone was going to pay.

**_-_-_**

            Jason carried his little brother into the Batcave, both of them dripping wet from a near fatal plunge into the murky depths of the harbor. He laid the younger Robin, his replacement, on the bed in the med station. Sweat mixed with water, plastering Tim’s hair to his forehead and making him look years younger. Dick helped maneuver their brother out of the wet costume and repeated for what must have been the twentieth time, “What happened?”

            Tim shook his head, “I…don’t know…” he admitted, cringing as another wave of pain rolled through him. He grabbed his side. Jason focused there, helping remove the last of his shirt and looking down. Jason expected a bullet wound or a gash. He did not expect what he saw.

            Nothing.

            Jason touched the kid’s side, and Tim gasped violently. Jason jerked his hand back. There was not so much as a bruise. He met Dick’s eyes. For all the older two Wayne boys did not communicate well, in moments like this, they could speak without words. “Tim, when did the pain start?”

            “Right after I captured Eric,” Tim replied.

            “You came to the battle hurt?” Dick said, eyes widening.

            “Idiot, you’re not a good enough fighter when in perfect health,” Damian added from where he was perched on the desk behind them. Jason shot him a look, but despite the kid’s bravado, he could see traces of worry around his eyes. Maybe the little monster was not a total sociopath, after all, Jason considered. He turned back to Tim.

“Definitely a fever…” Dick said, checking his brother’s temperature.

            “Well, at least the criminals that escaped because of you will get infected. Maybe we can trace them through tissue purchases,” Damian said.

            Jason did shoot him a look then. He turned back, about to add his own witty retort when he saw Dick’s face. Dick held the thermometer up, 102 degrees. Tim curled up in a ball, pain flaring through him.

_-_-_

 

Tick.

Tock.

            Dick paced back and forth in the main hall of the mansion. Each of his steps in sync with the stucco beat of the old clock above his heads as his baby brother lay on a surgery table in the cave below his feet. They called Dr. Thompkins the moment they saw his temperature. The tension in her voice was enough to tell the boys how bad this was. Dick stared at the ceiling. The doc had barely been there a minute before she sent the Robin’s upstairs. Apparently, their brand of helping was distracting.

Tick.

Tock.

            Jason was out the door the moment the doctor showed, soaking wet costume and all, to find the thug that put their brother in surgery. He would find the man that threw Tim off the boat, taunting the brothers over the comm.

            He honestly was not that surprised to realize a certain pint size Robin was at his heels.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick……………….tick…………………..tick………..

_-_-_

            The first time Tim woke up, he saw Dick. The oldest Wayne brother sat beside the bed, still in the Nightwing uniform but mask off. His hands were tangled in his dark hair as he leaned forward, eyes down. Tim shifted, feeling heavy from a sedative. “Dick…”

            His brother’s head shot up, and blue eyes met. “Hey…” he stood quickly, leaning closer, “Hey, you okay?”

            Tim shook his head, “What kind of poison…”

            “No poison, you had appendicitis. Your appendix...it burst…” Dick, the usually voracious sibling, was struggling to get the words out. “You could have died.” Tim blinked. It had not been an attack after all? Just his own body betraying him. He glared. Sometimes Tim wished he was a cyborg, that he could change out defective parts as easily as he did with the robots he created for training. He looked up again, registering guilt in Dick’s eyes.

“The Doc said you would have been showing signs before that,” Dick said, shaking his head, “Pains, fever, nausea. I should have seen it. I’m supposed to be the one in charge. I’m supposed to watch out for the rest of you, and I miss something this big.”

“Dick.”

“We’re detectives, right? That’s the family business. I’ve been a side-kick, a superhero, a Titan, a spy, and I can’t even tell my little brother is sick?”

Tim frowned, guilt stirring inside him now. He knew Dick well enough to know that he was currently privy to what was a fairly constant inner monolog of self-criticism. “You are a good detective,” Tim said, “And a better brother.” He let out a breath. “And I’m good at disguises…you didn’t see because I didn’t want to.” Dick’s face changed immediately, and Tim realized in his encouraging his brother he made a serious misstep.

            “You did say you noticed the pain earlier in the night,” Dick said, his eyes narrowing. There was the expression that allowed Dick to be Batman for a time when Bruce was gone. That was the expression that he could transmit, through a cowl or mask, that was even more intense without a barrier. “You knew.” He put one hand on the bed and leaned down. “You knew you were sick and you went into the field?”

            “Look, Dick I know, I could have compromised the mission. I thought it was a passing thing. I would never have intentionally done anything to let those criminals get away.” Dick huffed, leaning away. Tim realized that he had witnessed Dick this angry, at criminals. He had never been on the receiving end of the wrath he was witnessing now.

            “You think I’m angry about the mission?” he straightened and began to walk around the med area. “Unbelievable. Are you sure Damian is the one that’s Bruce’s biological son?” Tim frowned. Dick turned back and faced him. “You’re right. You did compromise the mission. Jason and Damian are out there now, finishing it up. And honestly? I have full faith that they will. Luckily, I was able to get the message to them that you weren’t poisoned, or we could have had some corpses on our hands.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at Tim. “But right now? I could care less about the Penguins thugs. I could care less about all of Gotham.” The anger faded to pain. “Do you not get that? Have I failed you so much that you don’t realize you are worth more than this entire city to me?” He reached down and brushed Tim’s hair back from his forehead. “Saving this city, protecting the world. That’s our calling. We sacrifice so much. You, you sacrifice your health every day. I get it, Bruce hasn’t exactly set a good example in that way.” Tim saw tears filling at the corners of his brother’s eyes. “But you, this family, you matter more than any of it to me. Gotham is my city, but kid, you…you, all of you, you’re my world.”

            Tim tried to look away, but Dick did not let him.

            “I need you to start taking better care of yourself, Tim. You’re not going to die from something you could have prevented by taking half a second to take care of yourself, do you hear me?”

            “Dick…”

            “Promise. Promise me you’re going to try.”

            Tim did not know if this was a promise he could ever keep, but in that moment, it was one he could not help but make. “I promise…I’ll try. I can’t say I can keep it up or…”

            “That’s good enough, for now, Tim.” Dick sat back down. “I love you, Babybird.”

            Tim pretended to fall back to sleep quickly after that, but he knew Dick was still there. It was a while before real sleep came.

_-_-_

            The second time Tim woke up, it was to Damian crouched on the edge of the bed, staring at him. Like a bird. “What the hell?” Tim said, startled.

            “Dick was falling asleep sitting up. I told him to go rest, and he insisted someone needed to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. He made me swear it.” He narrowed his eyes, “Congratulations. You didn’t die.”

            Tim laid back, feeling groggy from whatever was flowing through the IV drip beside the bed. He watched it drip. Drip. Drip into the tube. He would come up with a wry comment later. Right now he was too sleepy.

            “I’m glad you didn’t,” Damian said, causing Tim to stir and look at him.

            “What?”

            “Die. I’m glad you didn’t die.”

            Even in his weakened state, Tim could easily access his disbelief. He raised an eyebrow.

            “If you died while Father is away, he would assume I somehow used the arcane arts of my mother to give you appendicitis.” Damian huffed, “Ridiculous. There are far more effective ways.”

            “And suddenly I don’t want you watching me sleep.”

            “Fathers not back yet so…you’re safe,” Damian said. Maybe it was the drugs or the near death experience causing hallucinations, or maybe it was that he already fell asleep and was dreaming, but Tim could have sworn Damian’s words held less malice than usual. He almost thought he detected relief in the boy’s eyes.

_-_-_

            The third time Tim woke up, it was to Jason holding a small jar with something awful and pink floating in the fluid inside. Jason turned, catching Tim’s open eyes. A smile spread across his face, and he held up the jar. “It’s your appendix.” He shook it, causing the liquid inside to slosh. “Horrible right? It’s all diseased…” He tossed it from hand to hand, “So, I can definitely keep this right? I want to whip it out when I’m interrogating a criminal, tell him it’s all that’s left of the last guy or girl. I hate to be biased.”

            Tim raised an eyebrow, “Knock yourself out.” Did Jason put it in his jacket pocket? Tim really did not want to know the answer.

            Jason came over and took a seat. “So, Dami and I managed to round-up a bunch of the dock hooligans. Unfortunately, what you had actually wasn’t contagious, so you probably didn’t get any of them sick. But a whole bunch are currently driving the Commish crazy in his cells, so I call it a night well spent. And…” he leaned in, his eyes going from playful to dark in a single blink, “We caught the bottom feeder who threw you overboard….don’t worry. Like I told Dick, he made it to Commissioner Gordon alive. He just…had a rough ride to the station.” Jason leaned back, putting both hands behind his head, all trace of fury gone, “Anyway, I found something you might appreciate while we were out on our night of hunting.” He sat up, pulling out his cell phone, which had a picture of the gargoyle Tim was sitting on before this all began. The net was still there, but Eric was long gone. The man was a talented escape artist. But he left behind a message, written on the neck of the gargoyle in spray paint. _Get better soon, Red Robin._ _-E._ Tim smirked despite himself.

            “So yeah...Babybird…” Jason said, standing, “What he said.” 

              


 


End file.
